


Heroic Jawlines

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (or my attempt at..), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Fluff, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, meet cute, tws!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has a jawline, albeit smudged with grime, built for a heroic Hollywood movie. His eyes are a compelling grey, drawing Steve as the seconds pass during their stare-off. The man’s obviously built under his completely black outfit, from the way his biceps are outlined in the clinging fabric, and Steve kinds wants to shrink away and hide behind the nurse’s desk.</p><p>Sure, he’s attracted to this man, but in his scrubs and the smallest- but not small enough- lab coat he could find, he knows he looks like a hot mess. Well, not <em>hot</em> hot, just like sun beaten garbage on a summer day.</p><p>(Or: the doctor and coffee shop au nobody asked for.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroic Jawlines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beardysteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beardysteve/gifts).



> This was created on a sad Saturday when the internet went out.

Steve sees him when it's nearing midnight, aka: the point in time when the ER became less filled with _actual_ emergencies and more filled with over-worried parents and half-drunk people who got into bar fights and were there to support their beat up friend. But this one, this case, with the man who has dark circles under his eyes and is sitting ramrod straight, is a case that actually needs attending to. How does Steve know? Because that man is gripping the gurney so tightly his knuckles are turning white, and because of the thousand yard stare he has going on.

So, Steve, because he has a watchful eye and wants to beat Natasha’s case load, walks over to where the nurse set the guy up and pulls his chart out of it’s holder.

“I’m Doctor Rogers.” Steve stays as a ‘hello’ because it’s almost midnight and Steve can tell that this man doesn’t want to be here as much as Steve doesn’t want to be doing his seventy two hour shift, “What can I help you with, sir?” He flicks his eyes up to the man then back down to the chart. Noticing the fact that there’s no name or insurance card labeled… or even what he’s in for, for that matter. Steve’s not even sure _how_ he got back here, he just knows that this man is here for a reason and wouldn’t dare walk into the ER unless he needs medical attention.

The man doesn’t reply. Only stares at him from under the long locks of hair that have fallen out of his ponytail. And Steve is struck with the realization of how goddamn handsome this man is.

He has a jawline, albeit smudged with grime, built for a heroic Hollywood movie. His eyes are a compelling grey, drawing Steve as the seconds pass during their stare-off. The man’s obviously built under his completely black outfit, from the way his biceps are outlined in the clinging fabric, and Steve kinds wants to shrink away and hide behind the nurse’s desk.

Sure, he’s attracted to this man, but in his scrubs and the smallest- but not small enough- lab coat he could find, he knows he looks like a hot mess. Well, not _hot_ hot, just like sun beaten garbage on a summer day.

“GSW,” The man says, his voice rough, annoyed, and almost robotic, snapping Steve back into the real world of medicine and patients he’s not supposed to be attracted to.

“GSW?” Steve mutters to himself before realization hits him, “Sir, if you’ve been shot we need to get you into surgery.”

The man seems to sit up straighter at the word _surgery_ and glares at Steve, “It’s only in my thigh, not by any major arteries. If you can give me a pair a tweezers and some gauze surgery won’t be necessary.”

Steve sputters for a moment because: is this guy even real? “No! I can’t just give you tweezers, you need proper medical attention,” He turns his back for a moment, setting the chart back into it’s holder, and takes a few quick steps until he can pull two blue gloves from their box. “Let me take a look at your thigh,” Steve says, not yet turned around, pulling the gloves onto his hands, “then we can decide if you need surgery or not.” He knows, no matter what, this man will need surgery, but he’s going to humor him until a room opens and Steve can do the job he’s paid to do.

“Okay,” Steve says, turning around, “lemme see-”

But the man’s gone.

Steve spins around, stepping out of the curtain’d bed area to look into the ER, “Has anyone seen a man wearing all black?” He calls, “Grey eyes, hair up in a ponytail?” Steve leaves the heroic jawline and muscular build out of his description.

He gets confused looks from the drunk guys standing around their friend’s bed and slow shakes of heads from the nurses who probably think his late shift is getting to him. He’s never going to live this one down because he both lost a patient and could have made the man up.

Steve turns back to the bed, where lo and behold there’s a red blood stain on the white sheets. He runs a gloved hand through his hair and sighs to himself because somewhere on the streets of New York, there’s a very attractive man with a bullet in his thigh probably using very unsafe, and unsanitary ways to pull it out.

All because Steve freaked out when the man asked to do it himself.

Steve strips off the gloves and throws them away in the bin next to the bed. He pulls of the sheets, giving the bloody stain one last glace before tossing them into their designated bin.

It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

* * *

It’s cold. Cold as hell, if hell’s even cold. But the point is: it’s cold and Steve can’t stand it.

He just got off another seventy two hour shift, three days and nights filled of thinking and eating the crappy food from the cafeteria and getting little jabs from the nurses about the patient he lost. It’s nearing nine in the morning and Steve should really just head home and sleep for the next twelve hours, but he’s cold, and an overpriced coffee from Starbucks sounds nice right now. So he heads into the shop with little thought about the state of his physical or mental health.

Per usual, the line’s long. Filled with people trying to get to work and doctor’s just like him who are either starting their shift or ending it. He feels sorry for those who are just starting their shift but gets in line behind the scrub clad beings anyways.

Steve’s trying to decide between something sweet and decadent, or a simple decaf, both sound appealing to his half asleep mind but he settles on the decaf. He really needs to sleep when he gets home, after dealing with a major car wreck and shrapnel filled bodies, sleep is a necessity. But he really wants coffee right now, if he didn’t he’d be on the first train home.

“What can I get for you, sir?” The barista asks, a perky smile on her face that’s a little too perky for how early it is. And Steve’s pretty sure if it weren’t for his scrubs pants (because his scrub top is covered by all the layers he’s wearing) the _sir_ would be nonexistent.

Steve smiles back at the barista, or tires to, moving the muscles in his face might be too much work for his brain, “One grande coffee, decaf, no sugar.”

The barista nods, ringing him up, “That’ll be 4.75,”

Steve hands her his crumpled five dollar bill, and tosses the quarter he gets back into the tip jar.

He moves to the side of the counter with the other customers, waiting for his name to be called out when he sees him.

 _Him_ being the guy that came into the ER over two weeks ago, asking Steve for tweezers so he could take the bullet out on his own. The guy the nurses keep bringing up because everyone thinks Steve made him up. The guy Steve’s had more than one dream of because that jawline and those eyes are hard to forget.

The man in question is sitting at a window side table. His hair is up in a messy bun, he has a black jacket on with a red scarf around his neck, and he’s staring intently at the tablet in front of him.

And Steve _needs_ to talk to him.

He bounces on his toes as he waits for his coffee, flicking his eyes back and forth between the counter where people’s drinks are sliding out and where the man’s sitting. He doesn’t want to miss when his drink gets called out, but at the same time he doesn’t want to miss this man. He needs to know- for purely medicinal purposes- if the man’s thigh’s okay. If the man himself is okay.

Steve jumps when a different barista calls out his name and slides his coffee across the counter. He quickly thanks the barista, grabbing his coffee with his still mitted fingers, before walking to the man’s table.

He’s not quite sure what he’s going to say- what he’s supposed to say in this situation. Saying “Hey I was that doctor that was going to operate on your thigh, nice to see you again.” Seems a little too.. odd for this situation but sliding into the empty seat in front of the man and saying “Hey, there.” Seems too casual. He’s stuck, but before he can make up his mind, his legs have taken him across the café to the side of the man’s table.

Steve clears his throat when the man doesn’t look at him, shifting nervously on his feet when grey eyes settle on his. Like before, he’s unsure what to say, but thankfully, the man speaks before he can open his mouth and word-vomit.

“Hey! You’re the doctor from a few weeks ago, aren’t you?” The man actually looks bashful when he asks, a slight flush rising on his cheeks, his fingers tapping nervously at the table.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, caught off guard at the blush running across the man’s face, “I am,”

The man rubs the back of his head with one hand, messing with his bun nervously, “Didn’t think you’d remember me, if I’m being honest with ya’.”

“I remember anyone that tries to get me to let them operate on themselves,” Steve says bluntly, slapping a hand over his mouth when the words actually spew out. Thoughts becoming words mean he’s really, _really_ tired, “I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes, “I just finished a long shift, and I know that’s no excuse but-”

“It’s totally fine, man,” The man says, waving a hand, a smile on his face.

Smiles suit his face, Steve thinks and definitely does not say because that would be embarrassing.

“I think I’d remember me, too, if I were in your position,”

Steve laughs to himself, looking down at the small wisp of steam coming out of the lid of his cup, “How is your thigh? If I may ask.” The man motions for Steve to sit, so he does, setting his cup on the table and taking his mittens off.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, “a little sore, but I got the bullet out without damaging anything too much, and the stitches were pretty seamless despite the amount of whiskey I drank.”

Steve frowns, “You didn’t go to another hospital?”

The man shakes his head.

“Why?!” Steve squawks, he’s seen his fair share of infected wounds due to people trying to operate on themselves during his internship day, and they’re not pretty.

The guy shrugs, looking out the window instead of at Steve, “Don’t like hospitals. I’ve been in too many without knowing why and they ask too many questions. Always wantin’ to get cops involved.”

Steve feels a chill run down his back and takes a sip of his coffee, the heat letting him know that he’s actually awake and not dreaming this whole thing up, “You’re not a part of a mob are you?” he asks quietly, because, really, he doesn’t think he would let himself live it up if he started crushing on someone in a mob.

The man laughs, full body, eyes tearing up. And it’s gorgeous. The laugh is as beautiful as the man himself, it’s deep and rough but not scratchy and broken. It fills up the room but isn’t loud or obnoxious. It’s perfect, and that might be the sleepiness talking, but Steve thinks nobody could laugh as great as this man can.

Once the man’s done laughing he takes in a deep breath, and rubs his eyes, shaking his head at the same time, “Not in a mob, no sorry, just working for a government agency.”

“Oh,” Steve says, relieved, but.. “don’t they have their own medical units to patch you guys up in?” Unless everything he’s seen on TV is fake.

“They do,” the man replies, a small smile on his face, “but I didn’t really feel like dealing with them. I was in a-” he takes a moment to think over his choice of word, looking up at the ceiling before looking at Steve, “I was in a pretty pissy mood, I usually am after work, and I just wanted to do it myself but I promised my friend I’d at least go to the hospital first, so I did.”

“And denied our services,” Steve points out with a raise of his cup before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip.

“And denied your services,” the man agrees, nodding.

“You know you made me look like I was going crazy in front of all my colleagues,” Steve says, taking another sip of his coffee, “They all thought I made you up.”

The man smirks, grey eyes sparkling in the morning light, leaning in, “How can I make it up to you, Doctor Rogers?”

Steve blushes, “You can call me Steve,”

“ _Stevie_ ,” the man says, obvious flirtation in his voice sending chills down Steve’s spine.

“I never got your name,” Steve says, ignoring his blush for looking the man in the eyes.

“Full name is James Buchanan Barnes, but _you_ can call me Bucky.”

“Oh can I, now?” Steve flirts back, because he can, because he wants to, because he hasn’t flirted with anyone since med school and that was too long ago.

Bucky nods, leaning back in his seat, obviously more relaxed than he was when Steve first came up to him, “You can call me anything you want, Stevie, so, how am I going to make that up to you, again?”

Steve looks down at his cup, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the cardboard holder. He pretends to mull over just how he’s planning let Bucky make it up to him when he looks up into those grey eyes, the blush rising on Steve’s cheeks a contrast against the confidence in his voice, “How about dinner and a movie later, then you let me take a look at that thigh.”

“Do I get to see your thighs?” Bucky asks, grinning and now leaning across the table, towards Steve, “fairs only fair.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to be unfair, now would I?” Steve says, feigning innocence.

Bucky shakes his head, playing along with Steve, “No you would not.”

Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up a new contact, sliding it to Bucky, “Give me your number so we can set up the date?”

Bucky quickly types in his number before sliding it back to Steve, “Text me so I can have yours,”

Steve sends off a quick text, blushing ever so slightly at the contents of the text, a smile growing on his face when Bucky does another full body laugh at the text. Steve swallows the rest of his coffee and gets up from the small table, “Unfortunately, I just finished a seventy two hour shift and sleep calls.”

Bucky gets up from the table, too, picking up his tablet and downing his own coffee, “How about I escort you home?”

Steve knows he should be thinking about Stranger Danger, and all those Criminal Minds episodes he binged during his last vacation, but he’s not thinking about that right now. So, he says yes and lets Bucky walk him to the subway, down a few blocks, and even into his apartment.

If he gets murdered now, at least he’ll die happily. Thinking of heroic jawlines and strong thighs and hands that feel oh-so-good on his work-taunt body. He’ll be thinking of the food he wakes up to after sleeping for eight hours, and the small smile Bucky has at the mess in the sink. He’ll be thinking of the small kisses he gets while they watch How It’s Made reruns because Steve can’t think and Bucky’s genuinely interested in the show. He’ll be thinking about the movie date they go on and how Bucky hold his hand while they walk to the theater and the diner they go to after where they share a shake like something straight out of a movie. He’ll be thinking about the sweet and sappy side of Bucky he sees on their one month anniversary when Bucky sits them at the same little table they sat at on their first unofficial date. He’ll be thinking about the day he finally meets Bucky’s family and gets to laugh at baby pictures with Bucky’s mom. He’ll be thinking about the days when Bucky has some secret mission he can’t know about but Bucky still calls him when he has time just so Steve can know he’s safe. He’ll be thinking about those days he practically lives in the hospital and Bucky visits him with food and a sweet smile. He’ll be thinking about the day Bucky decides to move in. He’ll be thinking about how happy is and how in love he is and nothing else.

TL;DR: Steve doesn’t get murdered. Their first date is successful. Steve and Bucky fall in love and they live happily ever after, all due to Bucky being flirty and “making it up” to Steve, and Steve letting him.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [my tumblr](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/) for all the stucky and Seb Stan
> 
> Reblog [this](http://spookybuck.tumblr.com/post/131586742815/heroic-jawlines-by-earthseraph) if you enjoyed this c:


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